


the wrong husband

by jessamoo



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 01:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessamoo/pseuds/jessamoo
Summary: for the prompt "After Emily left, a drunk and lonely Reid turns up at tenter street looking for a girl. Susan intervenes."





	the wrong husband

A flurry of pink bare skin and green frills collided with Susan's shoulder as she walked through Tenter street.

The giggling she had heard stopped suddenly, being bitten back by two of her girls with their arms linked.

"Sorry m'm" One of them muttered whilst the other started at the floor.

Susan fought the urge to roll her eyes. They had probably imbibed too much - she made a mental note to stress the alcohol was for the clients, not the girls. She'd tell Jackson as much too, if he ever came home. Though he'd probably use that to book nights with Rose again.

Susan smoothed her dress down in annoyance. "What's all the noise about, anyway? Hmm?"

The blonde girl - there were so many blonde girls Susan forgot their names sometimes - who had smacked into her burst out laughing. It was all very undignified. She nudged her friend, Pandora, who sobered.

"Sorry Miss Susan. Its just...well...there's a man, with Clarissa."

Susan raised her eyebrows. "It might have escaped your notice girls, but that is rather the point of this place."

"It's...uh," Pandora giggled again. "It's Inspector Reid, Miss Susan."

Susan's stomach turned to ice. She glared at the two girls, stepping close to them. Despite having several inches on her, they quivered at her gaze. Everyone always did.

"You listen to me - Both of you." The giggling stopped. "Neither of you breathe a word of this, not even to the other girls, or you won't have a job come morning. By whose grace do you suppose it is this place stays open? God doesn't walk the streets of whitechapel, girls. It's by the grace of men like the inspector, who has been a friend to this establishment. If you want to continue to escape his and his divisions notice, you will have a little sense of decorum for once in your lives, and keep...quiet. Do I make myself clear?"

They both nodded and scurried off. Susan marched up the stairs, clearly on the warpath.

Flinging open the door to Clarissa's room, she glared across at the fireplace where Reid sat. Clarissa jumped as the door slammed loudly into the wall.

"Out." Susan barked at her. She did not need telling twice.

Susan closed the door behind her and stalked slowly to sit in the chair next to Reid's. He was clutching a glass of whiskey so tightly his knuckles were white. What had the stupid girl been thinking, plying him with even more drink? It clearly wasn't his first one.

"You might imagine my surprise, upon hearing the police were on the premises." She crossed her legs lazily, moving her skirts.

"Not the police." He muttered. "Not tonight. Just a man without a wife. Without a family. Without...anyone."

"And you think the trilling of some chit like Clarissa is going to make you feel better? Perhaps you are not as clever as I thought you were."

Reid glared at her and finished his drink in one swig, grimacing at the burning of the whiskey. "Maybe I'm not."

Susan watched him, a twinge of pity in her chest. This was not the Reid that was her friend, nor her enemy. In some ways, that man was more her equal than even her husband. This was not him. This was someone broken.

She takes the glass from him, placing it by her feet. She reaches to hold one of his large hands in hers. He lets her, for a moment, before pulling away.

"Why are you here?"

"Whitechapel is my kingdom. My sodom and Gomorrah, if you will. Should I not take advantage of its dark parts, instead of fighting them to exhaustion?"

Now that was him. Susan almost wanted to smile. "It is the fight that makes the light possible. You know that. We're all fighting. You think the girls out there are not fighting? They are. Everyday. They don't want to give their bodies to you anymore than you want to take them. But they want a glimpse of the light. The girls you would use to expunge your own misery are the very subjects you fight for."

He smiled. He'd been staring at the floor the whole time, but now he looked up at her. Even through the blur of alcohol, there's some spark in his blue eyes. 

"You weren't born to be a brothel madam, were you?" He says.

"And you weren't born to be a drunk. Yet here we are."

He chuckles and nods. "Where is your husband tonight?" He asked quietly.

Susan stills. She wonders if it the alcohol talking, but something tells her it isn't, not entirely. "I don't know where that man is from one day to the next. I dare say you see more of him than I do."

He makes a small sound of agreement before leaning back to slump in his chair, staring at the crackling fire. "Husbands should not neglect their wives. It's their duty to do the opposite. And yet I suspect many husbands have found their way under this roof. The only one who does not is the one that should."

Susan shook her head.

"You can sleep it off in here if you like. I won't let anyone in."

She stands up, moving around the chair, making to leave. He stops her with a hand on her wrist.

"Wait."

She stilled, not looking at him.

"Will you stay?" He asked quietly. His voice was hesitant.

"I sent one girl away. I will not replace her." She hissed waspishly.

"No, no, of course not." He squeezed her wrist in resassurance.

In truth, in other circumstances, on another night, she could have seen herself with him. She'd only been with one man before, a man she loved. But she could see it. She respected Reid, despite everything. She liked him even more. But he was drunk, and they were both lonely. She wouldn't think of anything else. She wanted to be with someone and think about them, not have them both wishing for another person.

But she does sit back down, after retrieving another drink for him and one for herself. He doesn't see the water she puts in his.

They sit, and they talk, and then he sleeps deeply. She stays in the chair, nursing her drink, listening to the sounds that floated through the house. He sleeps in that wide bed by himself, and she guards him against all the nightmares that exist outside these walls. Its all she can do for him tonight. 

She wonders where Jackson is. He isn't in front of her, like Reid is. She watches him sleep. And she waits for her husband to come, ignoring the small part of her that told her Reid would make a better one, despite everything that had happened to his family.

She falls asleep, and no one breathes a word of this night. Nor the nights after, when rumour had it a man in a bowler hat would sneak in, to see the madam of the house, and slip away with the sun.


End file.
